Not long ago I was making my post-Communion thanksgiving at a beautifully devout and prayerful celebration of the greatest gift available to humanity this side of Heaven when the silence was ruptured and I was brutally (and temporarily, thank God) relocated to Purgatory by the most horrible, unspeakably ghastly noise coming out of the PA system.
It was a CD track of vacuous, hippyish, 1980ish, human-worshipping, faux-Celtic, unmusical, semi-literate dross suitable only for a hearing-impaired pre-schooler; the unfashionably nasal wail of a vain and foolish female who had believed the person with the tin ear who had told her that she was a singer. Quite possibly it was her strumming the accompanying guitar, too.
The 'libretto' concerned (you'll love this) making an offering to His Majesty the Almighty Father of the fluff in one's pockets and small bits of string. I am not making this up. (There were no children present. The average age of the congregants was about 60.) There were several verses in this genre, punctuated by a mind-numbing refrain with the sort of narcoleptic power which would have come in handy for David when all he had to pacify the insane Saul was a harp. This refrain, or actually hit Saul over the head with the harp.
Swallowing hard, I gritted my teeth and rammed my fingers into my ears as hard as I could, squeezing my eyes tight shut in a desperate attempt to deaden all my senses for the duration. I prayed hard for the grace of endurance, telling myself that it would all be over in three and a half minutes. I pleaded with St Cecilia (first) to have actually existed so that (second) I could appeal for her prayers to (a) make it stop and (b) remedy the appalling state of devotional music in this benighted country. I also prayed, naturally, for health and long life for my fellow Dominican, James Macmillan, prophet of hope for music lovers in the Western Church.
It was, as I said, Purgatory.
I know I am a sinner, Lord, unworthy and and deserving of harsh chastisement, but don't you think that was a bit much?
But now God be thanked for James MacMillan and for Pope Benedict XVI (music lover) and Pope Francis (music lover).
I think God might just be looking kindly on my desperate prayers, after all.
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